The Healer's Price
by M C Pehrson
Summary: "To Hell and Back" story #4: Spock's sojourn with the Vulcan healer T'Sora brings unexpected results.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The computer disk was in a public com-slot, ready to transmit, when Spock came to himself. Quickly he removed it. Clasping the disk to his chest, he hurried from the building and gasped as a searing afternoon wind engulfed him.

 _Did anyone notice his odd behavior?_ Surely there were no tears in his eyes, only moisture born of hot desert gales and stinging grit. He would not shame himself with tears. Shielding his face with his cloak, he moved into the storm. Sand seemed to be coming from all directions—clinging to his layered clothes, filtering into his soft brown boots, choking him with each breath. As a boy he had found this sort of weather exhilarating, but today Vulcan seemed a harsh and inhospitable wasteland. He felt lost and out of place in his own home world.

 _Did his thoughts show?_ He gripped the disk meant for Dorian Wren tightly, and like a crushed kernel of _pleej_ corn, it enticed him with images of the Other's world, as sensual as Tobias himself. Purple oceans, cool breezes smelling of salt, rain sheeting over windowpanes.

Spock felt a sudden longing for that world and all the pleasures it had to offer. His first inclination was to repress the feeling and forcibly separate himself from any hint of Otherness. But the healer had urged him to accept such feelings when they arose. Though it went against Spock's Vulcan nature, he tried to follow T'Sora's advice. Anything that reduced his inner tension would also reduce the need for medication.

He arrived at the healer's backstreet clinic just as she was dismissing her final patient of the day, a young boy with a flushed, splotchy face. The child gazed wide-eyed at Spock and coughed as his mother guided him out the door.

Spock turned to the healer. "Another case of lung fever?"

"Yes," she said. "As long as this weather continues, there will be sickness. I am glad that I opened this clinic for the remainder of my sabbatical. The need here is very great."

He respectfully inclined his head and told her, "You are most generous to donate your time."

Her violet eyes held him. "And what of _your_ time? Where have you been? I could have used your assistance this afternoon."

The words were not so much a reprimand as a medical inquiry. Nevertheless, Spock was embarrassed at having failed once again in his simple duties. Not long ago he had been the first officer of a Federation starship, but now he could not even manage a few hours of simple work without wandering off.

"I found myself in downtown Shi'yon'Kahr," he admitted, "preparing to transmit this." He held out the disk in a gritty hand. "I regret any inconvenience that my absence caused you."

T'Sora gave the disk a wipe and inserted it into the clinic computer. "It was Tobias who inconvenienced me," she said, starting the playback. "Perhaps if I assign _him_ extra duties, he will learn to leave you at peace in yours." A slim brow lifted in speculation, then settled as an urgent appeal burst from the speaker.

"Dorian! Oh, how I miss you! Hurry up— _please_ come and get me!"

Spock resisted an urge to cover his ears and block out the disconcerting sound. The thought of Tobias using his voice, his body, to send love letters to Dorian Wren disgusted him. If there were a way to pluck the replicate from his soul and be rid of him, he would not hesitate to do so. But for now he was trapped with the childish, unpredictable creature, bound together in an unhappy union until T'Sora could effect a permanent healing. Perhaps weeks, perhaps months, perhaps even years.

"I promise I'll be good," the voice pleaded. "I'll do anything you say, Dorian, anything..."

Spock walked into the lavatory and washed up. Then he stood staring at himself in the mirror for a long moment. Yes, his hair was dark and his eyes were brown—the only outward signs that distinguished him from his blond, blue-eyed replicate.

"I am Spock," he insisted aloud. "S'chn T'gai Spock."

A tremor of angry resistance passed through him, and despite the healer's advice, he fought it fiercely. There was a grim sense of triumph in feeling Tobias vanquished…for now. Outwardly composed, he returned to T'Sora and helped close the clinic.

oooo

 _"_ Give it to me," demanded Tobias. "Just a little more pleej, that's all I want!"

Almost sighing, T'Sora stood toe to toe with the defiant halfling. It had been a long, tiring day. She had looked forward to a quiet evening with Spock, but here she was, dealing with a tantrum instead.

"Tobias," she said as patiently as possible, "you are sadly lacking in discipline. The art of meditation will help calm your mind. Now sit quietly for half an hour and apply the simple technique I have explained to you."

Tobias drew back his shoulders and stubbornly jutted his chin. "After you give me the pleej."

"You have acquired an unseemly taste for the herb," T'Sora noted. "I will not indulge it."

Clearly angry, Tobias headed for her medical pouch and began rummaging through its contents. T'Sora watched in silence as medical instruments and pharmaceuticals were strewn over the floor. When no pleej appeared, he threw down the empty pouch and faced her, eyes black with violent intent.

"Get the pleej, damn you! _Now!"_

Quietly she said, "Not until you meditate. And in view of your agitation, I am increasing the time to forty-five minutes."

In an instant, Tobias had crossed the room. His arm lashed out with a clumsy backhand to her face. T'Sora tasted blood. With one smooth motion she grasped his right shoulder and applied a moderate pressure that dropped the halfling to his knees.

"One full hour," she said. "Then I will consider a very small dose of pleej."

oooo

Tobias seethed. With every shred of his being, he resented T'Sora's mastery over him. The feeling of the blow he had dealt her still throbbed in his hand, filling him with angry satisfaction. One of these days he would find a way to leave this sandy hell of a planet. Somehow he would get back to Helexia…and Dorian.

After the nerve paralysis wore off, he reluctantly folded his legs into a posture of meditation. Though he closed his eyes, he had no intention of playing the Vulcan mind games. He was not Spock. He would only sit still for the necessary hour and dream of Helexia until…

Warm fingers touched his face. Startled, he raised his eyelids and found T'Sora kneeling before him. It was too late to pull away. Something in the healer's gaze seemed to leap out from the violet depths and restrain him. There was a moment of utter quiet during which his tension drained away. He was floating in a dark yet comfortable place…but he was not entirely alone. Somewhere nearby lurked the Other—the Spock—who constantly vied with him for control.

A sudden resurgence of irritation swept the quiet aside. Tobias reopened his eyes expecting to find the healer, but she had gone from the room. Self-consciously he rubbed at the place where T'Sora had touched him. He did not like the way she manipulated his mind. He did not like her unbending demands and firm patience and unfailing composure. By not fighting back, she always made him look foolish. And he did not like looking foolish, either.

oooo

Harsh sunlight was streaming through the high windows of his room when Spock awoke, but the wind had not yet begun to blow. _Why had T'Sora not roused him?_ His mental processes felt sluggish as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The change of position sent a dull ache through his head.

 _Of course. It was past time for the pleej._

 _"Pekh,"_ he cursed to himself.

An inner voice echoed a much cruder expletive. When Spock failed to react, the voice taunted him. _You don't like me. You think I lack refinement. Well, you are not as disciplined as you think. I have seen the thoughts you sometimes have about T'Sora. Your precious healer._

Spock would have liked to say, "If there are any such thoughts, you have implanted them." But he did not answer the taunting Otherness in his mind. He tried to maintain the cool, noncommittal silence that T'Sora had advised. No agreement, no disagreement. Just a calm acceptance of that which he could not change. Even so, Spock inwardly shuddered at the thought of living the rest of his life with Tobias. Surely a healing would come.

After taking a moment to collect himself, he straightened the bed and dressed in fresh clothes. Then foregoing breakfast, he hurried through the rest of his morning routine and headed for the front door.

An unusual sight stopped him. A cloaked figure stood in the doorway, looking out into the small walled-in garden. For one heart-pounding instant Spock thought it was his father—that somehow Sarek had found him and would see what he had become. Then the figure turned his way.

Greatly relieved, he said, "Healer. You are not yet at the clinic?"

Her eyes warmed and her lips stirred into the suggestion of a smile. "Apparently not. Spock, have I ever left you? Come, we will go together."

As they walked the streets side by side, there were questions that Spock would have liked to pose. Why had the clinic not opened on time? Why wear a hood when the wind was not blowing? Could it be a cover for the faint swelling on her jaw? It looked as if she had concealed a bruise with makeup. Should he inquire about it? By remaining silent, he might seem cold and unconcerned, yet questioning T'Sora might be construed as meddlesome. It seemed like a very difficult problem, and thinking about it made his headache worse.

At the clinic her hood came off, clearly revealing the masked evidence of an injury.

"Your face…" he said.

"It is nothing," she countered.

T'Sora doled out a single kernel of pleej, and Spock set his mind on the simple tasks she expected of him. It felt good having something concrete and productive to do. The remainder of the morning was taken up with recordkeeping and whatever medical assistance he could provide. In late afternoon, the waiting room slowly emptied as the rising wind forced the populace off the streets. When the final patient walked out into the storm, Spock felt the healer's eyes on him and knew what was coming.

"Sit down," she said, indicating a nearby bench.

He considered making some excuse, but there was no escaping his therapeutic meld. Seating himself, he awaited the daily ritual. The swelling on T'Sora's jaw seemed more pronounced as she moved in beside him, her black upswept hair glinting in the light. Their legs brushed, and he closed his eyes. His blood began to race even before the graceful, proficient fingers met his face. There was a strong, irrational urge to pull away. But why should he resist? He thought of the trust that had grown between them over the month-long course of his treatment. These sessions were essential to the healing process and could not be set aside to pacify what was, no doubt, a childish resonance of the Other.

Spock determinedly sat still, and with a kind but forceful touch, T'Sora entered his mind.

He felt strange afterward, almost as if a fever were coming upon him, and he could not rid himself of the words Tobias had whispered that very morning. _I have seen the thoughts you sometimes have about T'Sora._ Back at the healer's home, he felt a great desire to be near her and was aware, more than ever before, of her fine physical presence. He could not help but admire the proud set of her shoulders, her symmetrical features, and rare violet eyes. As they shared dinner, he noted a mild flush on her face and a slight unsteadiness of hands as she picked at her food. _Was she also falling ill?_ The very thought created a sharp stab of anxiety. What would become of him without T'Sora?

Abruptly she excused herself and retired to her room.

Still feeling uneasy, Spock cleaned the kitchen and spent some moments alone in the common room, but the need to be near T'Sora only increased. At last he got up and went to the healer's door. Finding it ajar, he peeked inside and saw her seated in meditation. Though it was unmannerly to intrude on such a private moment, his concern got the best of him.

"Healer," he said at the doorway.

She sighed deeply and glanced up. The look of tension in her lovely eyes sent a responsive pang straight through him.

"T'Sora," he managed to say. "Forgive the intrusion. It…seems to me that you are not well."

"And you worry that I might be developing lung fever?" Her slender brow lifted in amusement. "No, Spock. I am only tired." The healer rose to her feet, looking very weary indeed. "I may as well tell you now. Tomorrow will be our last day at the clinic. I feel the need for some rest before returning to my work at the university. You will come with me to a camp in a remote area of the Shi'yon'Kahr Preserve."

An odd flutter of excitement sidled through Spock's stomach. "Shi'yon'Kahr Preserve," he said in a carefully collected voice. "As you wish, healer."

Spock left her and walked into his own bedroom. Quietly he shut the door and leaned against it, lost in a sudden agony of confusion. He somehow sensed that the healer was not telling him everything. Was the upcoming trip more than a simple matter of rest? Why must they retreat to such an isolated area? What would happen between them there? As thoughts of a sensual nature teased at his mind, he struggled to bring his rising desire under control. Disgusted by such weakness, he placed the blame on Tobias. Was it not perfectly logical? These feelings for T'Sora were not his own, but spillage from his oversexed replicate. Tobias Wren was the one who wanted her.

oooo

After Tobias packed, T'Sora went back through the drawers and collected the items belonging to Spock that Tobias had "forgotten". The replicate always had to be watched closely, but for once she was glad that he was in ascendance. Time was short. She had detected Spock's inner conflict and would rather wait to explore it at their destination.

Tobias seemed to be looking forward to a change of scene. If he guessed any part of what lay ahead, it did not bother him. And that was hardly surprising. The libidinous replicate would likely be open to variations of the carnal experience he had enjoyed with Dorian Wren. The eagerness that T'Sora expected from him could prove to be a problem. When the hour came, it was important that Spock also be an active participant, not overwhelmed and forgotten in the natural rush for satisfaction.

T'Sora finished tucking Spock's things into her own luggage and turned to find a dark pair of eyes studying her. Looking at the halfling's lean, attractive body, she repressed a shiver of desire. At this point, it would take very little to break her control.

"We must leave now." The words felt forced and dry in her throat. She ran her tongue over her lips. Picking up her bags, she started for the commuter station. Every nerve of her being drew Tobias into step beside her.

oooo

The trip to the wilderness preserve held Tobias' attention. It was his second time through a transporter, and as before, the device made him feel strange all over. Next, they boarded a skimmer for a breathtaking flight into a land of volcanic activity. It was an eerie side of Vulcan that he had never before seen. As soon as the skimmer set down, he rushed out, eager to get a close look at the bubbling mud pots near the stone cabin that would be their home.

The healer sharply called after him. "Tobias! The supplies must be unloaded and put away!"

A new impatience in T'Sora's tone made him turn back and share in the work, for the dreaded, paralyzing threat of her nerve pinch hung over him like a dark cloud.

Once their belongings were unloaded, the skimmer glided off against the red sky. Tobias followed its progress until it went completely out of sight. Then he gave his attention to the healer and found her strange eyes looking at him. A cold spasm of fear squeezed his heart, and he thought with fresh longing of Dorian Wren. Homesick and lonely, he turned his face from T'Sora and walked off toward the mud pots.

"Do not wander far," she cautioned. "Remember the dangers I told you about."

Tobias pretended to agree.

oooo

Warm water roared down on Spock, and the ground shook. Every inch of him was soaking wet. Disoriented, he sat motionless, trying to make sense of his situation before he made any move. He was still seated when the downpour eased up and rapidly came to an end. In the sudden quiet, he found himself perched on the rim of a geyser located at the west end of a small, volcanically active canyon. Sulfurous-smelling steam rose from countless fissures in the canyon floor. Other geysers could be seen spouting water over a staggering luxuriance of vegetation. There were even trees—a hardy stand of wild figs, and several _in-du-ka_ with narrow, red leaves.

Obviously he was still in Shi'yon'Kahr Preserve. Just as obviously, he was lost.

Spock stood, and wiping the moisture from his eyes, studied the dark peaks encircling the canyon. He must gain high ground and search for T'Sora's camp. There was no way of telling how long he—or rather, _Tobias_ —had gone missing. He could sense the healer's deep concern, and it seemed to him that she was unwell.

He began to set out, then hesitated. _Why had Tobias left the camp? Perhaps he had good reason. It might be wisest to stay secluded in this canyon for a while. There was plenty of water here and an assortment of edible…_

No! He would find the camp. Surely he was capable of handling whatever he found there. Once moving, he turned eastward. His hair and clothes soon dried as he left the steamy canyon floor and hiked into the rocky hills more typical of Vulcan. The most dangerous predators avoided the heat of day, when even flesh-eating plants were sluggish.

Higher and higher he climbed, drawn ever more urgently by a tension that he preferred not to name. The yearning stirred in him like hunger as he reached the top of a ridge and searched the vista. Ancient statues stood like sentries in a vast lava field.

Spock clenched his hands in frustration. He had visited the site as a child, but it was not the valley of T'Sora's encampment. _Where was she?_

Behind him, a pebble stirred.

"Tobias!"

He whirled toward the strident voice, mouth opening in disbelief. T'Sora stood at the bend of a trail, her normally placid features rigid with fury.

"I told you not to wander off!" she snapped.

Spock closed his mouth and swallowed hard. "Healer," he managed to say, "I am not Tobias. Nevertheless, I apologize once again for whatever trouble he has caused you."

There was a strange, ringing silence.

T'Sora worked to compose herself. "Never mind. It is enough that I have found you." Her hand trembled as she offered him a kernel of pleej. "Here, take this quickly. We must return to camp."

Hoping the herb would help calm him, Spock crushed the kernel between his fingers and inhaled its dust.

A shudder convulsed T'Sora, and for a moment her shoulders slumped. Even under the first distracting effects of the pleej corn, Spock noticed and said, "Healer, you _are_ ill."

She nodded weakly. "It…will pass." In straightening, she grasped Spock's forearm and the burning contact seemed to grip his insides. "I will feel better when we reach camp. Come with me."

Spock followed, walking with his eyes on her slim back, occasionally stumbling over rocks, all but blind to the trail. In his mind's eye he kept seeing a frail Avitian, and remembering the helpless agony of taking what he dared not take in order to survive. _Why thoughts of that pon farr now?_ As he followed T'Sora, he recalled the terrible depression that had swallowed him afterward—months of blackness like a living death.

He struggled to put those memories from his mind. Unless he brought himself fully into the present, he would be of little use to the sick healer, or to himself. He arrived at camp wearied by the interior struggle. His body throbbed with erotic stirrings as he entered the stone cabin with T'Sora. The healer sank into the nearest chair and bent forward, covering her face with her hands.

"Can I be of assistance?" Spock asked, torn between his concern for her and an urgent need for meditation.

T'Sora lowered her hands and looked at him, her lovely features drawn with weariness. "No, no. Now I will be alright. Sit down, Spock. Let us talk about you for a moment. There is something you have been wanting to ask me."

How well she knew him. Perching rigidly on the edge of a chair, he grasped his knees and said, "I want to know the true purpose of this trip."

"I have already explained," she replied smoothly. "We have come here for my health. I need rest."

Not fully satisfied, Spock asked, "Then coming here has nothing to do with me?"

T'Sora hesitated, a crease appearing between her arched brows. "Sometimes a change in environment can be beneficial in cases…such as yours."

"Mental cases." He could not help but say it.

"Even if that were so," chided the healer, "it would not be cause for shame."

Spock was silent.

"You have other questions," she said. "Questions about your condition."

"Yes," he admitted with some difficulty. "I…do not know how much longer I can bear this division within myself. There are times when I feel as if the Other…and his base needs…are gradually taking me over." Looking T'Sora squarely in the eyes, he dared to say, "At such times I even…fear for your safety."

His face went hot and he watched the healer rise. As T'Sora went to a window and gazed out at the cloudless afternoon sky, his throat tightened with the need to clarify and console her. "It is not that I doubt your ability to heal me…"

"No." T'Sora turned around, her violet eyes glistening. "Please, Spock. Let us both be…as honest as possible." She drew a slow, shaky breath and continued. "You want me to rid you of Tobias, but I cannot do that. Listen to me. You, Spock…and Tobias…are but dual aspects of a single katra. There can be no division of what is fundamentally one. There can only be re-integration. Spock is Tobias. Tobias is Spock. Do you understand?"

"No separation?" Spock's mind balked at the healer's words, yet at his deepest level he recognized their profound logic. Perhaps he had known the unpleasant truth all along.

Once again, the healer sat near him. "I will speak plainly to you, Spock. Your re-integration could have been accomplished by now, only something is preventing the assimilation, something more than the simple variance of two personalities. I believe the trouble is in you, rather than Tobias. It is true that Tobias is immature and lacking in discipline, but those qualities should make him receptive to the stability you can offer. It is the wish of every child to grow up. However, you view _him_ with deep distaste. There can be no union until you lower the barriers you have erected inside yourself."

Numbed, Spock said, "But I have tried…for weeks."

"Yes, I am aware of your efforts. Haven't I explained that you must cease all such efforts or you will make no further progress? Spock, do not resist. Open yourself, instead, to the goodness that is in Tobias. When conditions are right, you will come together naturally."

The healer's words were difficult to accept. He was not aware of any goodness in the Other. He did not see how they could reach a state of accord, particularly now, with fleshly urges working away at him like a fever.

Suddenly he felt the need to say, "You…and your father…are not like other healers that I have known. You are…so very compassionate."

Her eyes warmed enticingly and her full lips stirred. "We are part of the ancient _Rominahr_ healing tradition that allows some emotional latitude. Compassion is encouraged as an aid to successful treatment."

He was wondering how far that emotional latitude extended into other relationships when she withdrew to the privacy of her room.

Shadows were gathering in the corners. Beyond the common room window, the sky had faded to purple, with a narrow band of orange showing at the horizon. Longing for the healer's company, Spock watched the last glimmer of light disappear. And only then it came to him that she had not addressed his concern for her safety.

oooo

A tap at T'Sora's bedroom door drew her from a much-needed meditation. Curious, she rose from her cushion and bade the halfling to enter. Both Spock and Tobias had previously intruded upon her privacy, but of the two, Tobias was much more likely to do so…especially when he was craving pleej.

The door swung aside, and he stood before her holding a metallic object in the palm of his hand.

"Yes?" T'Sora prompted.

Leaving the door open, Tobias warily said, "You will tell me that I should have asked before I brought this along. But what is it?"

She recognized the old figurine from the common room at Shi'yon'Kahr, but decided not to reproach him. "It is an ancient charm—meant to ward off the Eater of Souls." Seeing questions in his eyes, she directed him to a chair and sat on the edge of her bed before initiating a discussion on spirituality. It was not the first time he had shown interest in such matters. Watching for his reaction, she told him, "There is another who finds this subject equally intriguing. His name is Spock." 

Tobias bolted to his feet. "Him? _Spock_ is the Eater of Souls, and he's after mine!"

"Oh, but you are mistaken," she said as calmly as her condition allowed. Here in the confines of her bedroom, the fever was rising. "If you treat him kindly, he will _join_ with you. He will be your friend. It is called…assimilation."

"Spock, my friend?" he said, obviously frustrated. "He wants no part of me." And tossing the figurine aside, he slammed into his room.

oooo

Late that night T'Sora lay in bed, staring into the darkness. Though the cabin was warm, she shivered and pulled her blanket higher. In the next instant, she was burning hot. Throwing back the covers, she got up and restlessly paced the room. What had begun as a minor distraction, had grown into a relentless ache for satisfaction. It did not help to know that her male patient was so near at hand. Only a wall separated them, only a wall…and the rigid ethics of a Vulcan healer.

If only it were a simple matter of self-preservation! But she could not save herself without also trying to save Spock/Tobias. She dared not come to them before they were ready, or the damage might be irreparable. Yet if she did not mate soon, what little remained of her control would crumble away. What would become of Spock then? Yes, Spock. For only he truly mattered to her.

Earlier, Tobias had set aside his qualms and entered her bedroom. Was it a sign? And Spock had spoken of "base needs" that made him fear for her safety. Why now? An uncertain logic urged that she go to the halfling and test his willingness.

T'Sora gazed at the starry Vulcan sky visible from her high windows. Somewhere in the distance a LeMatya screamed, and she shuddered at the wild sound. Throwing on a silken wrap, she went out into the hallway. The halfling's door was shut. Her hands trembled as she worked the latch and pushed. The door resisted her. Though she shoved harder, the door held firm. _Barricaded,_ she realized with a surge of frustration. How could that be? Vulcans never barred their doors, but Spock was not entirely Vulcan, and as for his replicate…

"Tobias!" she cried out. No answer came, but suspecting that he was awake, she made her voice especially gentle. "Tobias, please open the door. I…need to come in."

"Why?" demanded a distrustful voice. "You're going to punish me for throwing your little Soul-Eater."

T'Sora sighed and considered breaking down the door. She had no patience to deal with the childish Tobias now. Why was he being so uncooperative? On Helexia, he had experienced fleshly pleasures and enjoyed them. Did he not feel her need?

She tried again. "Tobias, I have no intention of punishing you. I give you my word as a Vulcan. Now remove the barricade and let me into your room."

There was a maddening delay, and then sounds of furniture scraping over the floor. Tobias cracked open the door and peeking out warily, asked, "What do you want?"

T'Sora fought an urge to grab hold and show him what she wanted in a very direct manner, but such behavior might further alienate him. A male could not be forced.

Fire surged through her veins, and each breath felt as dry as dust. "Just let me in," she managed to say. Then a sob escaped her.

She could not remember the last time she had sobbed, or if she ever had, and it was frightening. If she could weep so easily, she could also lose control in other ways. Perhaps it was already too late for her, after all.

Eyeing her with suspicion, Tobias opened the door and edged back into his well-lit room. T'Sora regained some composure and followed step for step, coming to a halt beside the bed.

"You have been lonely here," she said. "The way of life on Vulcan is very different from what you knew on Helexia." His deep-set eyes glimmered fearfully. "You have needs. The normal needs of a human male, and other urges that you have not yet experienced. But Spock has. Spock knows."

"I don't want to talk about him," he said, visibly trembling.

"Then we won't," soothed the healer. "This entire subject is awkward, not lending itself to ordinary speech. Some things are better left to a private language." Her eyes took a slow, hungry tour of the nervous halfling, remembering every contour covered by his sleeveless black undershirt. As a healer, she had seen him stripped to the waist. She could well imagine how his masculine growth of chest hair would tease her fingertips. With that thought, her right hand slowly rose and touched the halfling's face. Tobias began to draw away, but she grasped his arm with her free hand and pulled him so close that their bodies touched. His eyes widened as T'Sora's heated thoughts coursed through the fingertips at his temple.

The attempt at seduction failed. Tobias reacted with a staggering wave of fright, and by the time T'Sora came to herself, he was gone. Tearing through every room, she searched fruitlessly for the halfling. At last she threw open the cabin door and ran outside. _The childish fool! Where was he?_ Standing under the stars, she let out a shriek of pure frustration.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Pain jabbed at his bare feet as Tobias sprinted through the cool Vulcan nightscape. There were creatures that prowled in the dark—strange alien creatures with sharp claws and poisonous fangs. There were plants that caught hold of people and ate them. Other things lived in the sand, sucking victims down into nests, killing them, eating their innards and laying eggs. The healer had told him so.

On and on he ran, trying hard to ignore the dangers, trying hard to forget the frightening thoughts shown to him by T'Sora. She wanted sexual relations. Not at all like Dorian, but with an animalistic violence that he did not understand.

What was it she had said? _Spock knows._

Gasping, he pulled up and heaved a bitter sickness from the pit of his stomach. For a while he just bent double, holding his knees, struggling to catch his breath. _Spock knows._

Aimlessly he limped on. A beast howled in the distance, and he picked up his pace. Oh, how could he survive out here all alone?

"Spock," he moaned aloud. "Spock, help me…"

Astonished at the workings of his mind, he stopped short. He had called upon Spock. The Other. And for once the thought of having an Other nearby was comforting. Letting go a little more, he opened himself to the rival strength and shared some of the distress he was experiencing. Amazingly, the Other did not immediately reject him, but seemed to be analyzing everything in that calm, steady way of his.

 _Help me,_ Tobias repeated hopefully. _Tell me what to do._

Silence answered. Then came the unwelcome reply, _Go back!_

Bitterly disappointed, he refused the Other's advice and began walking aimlessly again. Surely it was better to be a moving target than remain stationary. Or would moving attract more attention to himself? He came to a jumble of boulders left by a hillside avalanche, and wearily sat on one to rest his bleeding feet. The first glow of dawn was brightening the eastern sky. Soon it would be daylight. He needed shelter, and this place seemed as good as any. Slipping between two rocks, he managed to pull all of his body into a sandy hollow. There was just enough room to curl up, and feeling safer, he gave himself over to sleep.

oooo

T'Sora railed at the fading stars. Standing under the sky, she railed at the unfairness of Vulcan life, at the relentless force driving her to madness. She cursed the sand under her slippers, kicked at it, and threw great handfuls because it was there, part of the great wilderness keeping a mate from her. She cursed all of Vulcan until her voice gave out and she collapsed in despair.

It had happened too fast, this time. It was barely a year since her bondmate died, and she had prepared poorly, staking her life on a frail network of assumptions. She had thought the healing link would be enough to draw Spock when the hour came. Spock's mind was trained in Vulcan ways, so her need should have brought him to her bed by now. She had thought Tobias would succumb to any sexual invitation. Well, she had been wrong. Dead wrong.

oooo

A pure, sweet note sounded somewhere in Spock's mind. _Music?_ Another note. Perhaps the grandfather clock that his mother kept in the hall.

The sound came again. Spock fought a heavy tide of sleep, and becoming aware of pain, opened his eyes. He blinked against a shaft of red light streaming between some boulders. Though feeling tightly closed in, he sensed movement, and the opposing sensations warred in his mind as he held still. He heard the distant note again, and recognized the call of a dawn bird. Ever so slightly he turned his aching head, so that his eyes were out of the sun. Now he saw his situation clearly.

Beneath him, the sand stirred.

Spock's heart gave a sickening lurch. Hardly daring to breathe, he quickly glanced about for a suitable exit. Tobias—the fool—had managed to get in here. _But how?_

The sand's movement became more intense. Near his arm, it began to churn wildly.

Spock lunged for the likeliest opening. His upper body was squeezing through the passage when something cool brushed his bare ankle. Jerking away, he attempted to scoot a bit farther while the equally determined sandclaw scraped the inner surface of the rocks, probing for a meal.

A tentacle touched his left thigh and coiled, instantly sinking its barbs through the fabric, deep into his flesh. Pain tore through the leg as the sandclaw pulled at him. Spock did not resist. Once fully inside the cavity, he grasped the barbed rope of muscle and tugged with all his strength. Blood streamed from his wounded hands, but the tentacle only clamped tighter. Then slowly, inexorably, the predator sank into the sand, dragging him downward.

Spock fought an encroaching panic. Heart slamming, he clawed at the rocks, searching for a handhold and finding none. Then his fingers closed over a loose stone. Swinging it down on the tentacle, he sheared off a few barbs and beat the vulnerable area to a pulp.

The injured tentacle held firm. Bending double, Spock sank his teeth into the tough flesh, tore loose a mouthful, and spat it out. Then again. Thick, vile-tasting serum welled up. A shudder passed through the coil of muscle, and its grip weakened noticeably.

Looking around, Spock found another, sharper rock and knifed the wound with it. More liquid seeped out. Little by little, the tentacle relaxed its death-grip and slid back into the sand.

Spock stared at the spot where the creature had disappeared. Slowly he released the stone and began to tremble. How could Tobias have placed him in such danger? The ignorant _nirak!_

But now to extricate himself. A second, more thorough search revealed an opening better suited to accommodate his body. He quickly slipped out and found a small spring-fed pool nearby. High overhead, a pair of birds circled peacefully, their silver wings bright in the morning sky.

Perching on a boulder, he rolled up his bloodied pant leg and examined the barb-gashes above his knee. Green blood flowed steadily from the circle of wounds, but by concentrating he was able to slow the loss. The cuts on his hands and feet were less serious.

He would require bandages. First, he limped over to the pool and checked for predators. Then he rinsed the foul sandclaw taste from his mouth and bathed his injuries. Still shaky, he pulled off his undershirt and ripped it into three sections—one for his leg and the others to protect his feet. Then with a growing sense of urgency he set off to find T'Sora. This time he clearly sensed her direction, and shortly after noon sighted the healer's camp through a shimmer of heat waves. There was a thrill of anticipation as he thought of T'Sora awaiting him. More than sympathy, more than empathy, it was a biological need as binding as any he had ever experienced.

Spock was no longer aware of pain as he walked a slow path to the cabin. Opening the door, he stepped inside and shivered in the dim coolness. Yes, the healer was nearby. Very near. And knowing it made his mind flame and his body burn.

 _Stop,_ warned the inner voice. _She is only using you!_

An ironic complaint from Dorian Wren's plaything. Whether or not Tobias lent his childish approval should not matter now. He, Spock, commanded this moment, and the healer would die without him. But remembering her counsel—for her sake alone—he purposely lowered his resistance to the Other's objections.

Doubts immediately rose up. Stopping outside T'Sora's bedroom door, he listened to the outcries of Tobias and for once they corresponded with his own burgeoning suspicions. _Surely she had known that her Time was coming. Had she established a mental link for just this purpose? Had she prearranged all of this for her own benefit?_

Anger stirred at the thought, and he boldly opened the door and saw her lying upon her bed. _Was she about to betray him?_ Their eyes met and suddenly all doubt fled, for in that telling moment he saw her heart laid bare and realized that she had not used him, but loved him. Even as he now realized that he loved her. And in light of that simple truth, the Other likewise yielded, and they approached the healer T'Sora with but one thought in mind.

oooo

During his life, Spock had awakened like this enough times to recognize the state and call it by name. But always before, the fever of pon farr had been his own. Through it he had drawn a mate to himself. Until now, he had never been so intensely beckoned by a female. It was a new and quite pleasant sensation.

He forced himself to move, rising from the disheveled bed by slow stages until he stood on tender feet, favoring his injured leg. T'Sora continued to sleep as he gazed down upon her, feeling deeply possessive. Tearing himself away, he limped into the lavatory and quietly shut the door. His swollen fingers felt clumsy as he removed the soiled bandage from his leg, exposing the angry hook wounds. He took a long, soothing shower in the sonic booth, then wrapped a towel around his hips.

Going quietly into the kitchen, he opened a container of imported peaches and ate them all. Yesterday's ordeal in the desert and all that followed had left him hungry. Finished, he went into the common room, lay down on the sofa, and gazed out the window at a clear crimson sky. Little by little he felt the need for release mounting again. He wondered how it would be to lie with T'Sora in the calmer moments that followed every mating crisis. He wondered how it would feel to hold her when their minds were perfectly clear.

He heard movement in the house. Then the sound of the shower. A few minutes later, she walked down the hallway and paused just inside the common room, wearing a flowered wrap, her smooth black hair in a single braid on her shoulder. Spock's heart sped as she continued toward him, coming to stand over the sofa, eyes glowing with desire and much affection.

He warmed in response. For the first time he told her, "I remember you as a child. Even then you were beautiful."

Sitting down beside him, she tenderly touched his face. "And I have long taken an interest in you, _ashayam_."

Their fingers briefly interlaced and then they kissed with sudden urgency. And for a time there was no further need for words.

oooo

More sleep followed, and other awakenings. At last Spock found himself covered with a blanket. The green woven fabric was soft and smelled of night-blooming _svai_. Still sleepy, he turned onto his back. The movement brought scattered twinges of pain and a slow steady throb from his leg. Reaching under the covers, he touched the injured area. It was bandaged now—not carelessly, but with a disinfectant spray dressing.

"Your leg will soon heal," came T'Sora's gentle voice.

Spock looked toward the sound. There was just enough daylight to see her standing in the doorway. _Dawn? Dusk?_ He had lost all track of time. And in the process, both he and the healer seemed to have passed beyond the seven year crisis.

"You might have been killed out there," she said, coming closer.

Spock pushed himself up in bed. He felt remarkably well. It was more than the relaxing of sexual tension. There was a feeling of wholeness that had been missing for a long time. He almost laughed with the pleasure of it, and did not even try to hold back a smile.

"You have healed more than my body," he told her. "I am…very much at peace."

T'Sora graced him with a gentle smile of her own. "Yes, that which had grown apart is now back together. You may not remember the exact moment of integration. It is lost somewhere in the turbulence of these past days. Perhaps a moment of honest giving, a letting go of deeply buried conflict. A selfless, healing surrender…"

"To thee," he finished, reaching for her hand.

oooo

That night, as T'Sora slept beside him, Spock gazed into the corners of his mind, intrigued by the strange new elements he found there. It was already becoming difficult to distinguish the Other's memories from his own. Easing his leg into a comfortable position, he forced sleep on himself.

Dreams came.

 _…He was in a warm, safe place, but he was hungry. In a corner all by himself, he sat staring at the dark places beyond his transparent enclosure. Dorian should have been here by now. It didn't matter if he had done something wrong and she would punish him. He wanted her company. He wanted the food she brought. He wanted more of the pleasant touching…_

 _…He was running barefoot along a beach. Though it was cloudy and dark outside, it was not too dark for him. He had learned how to work his eyes at night. He could see the long line of purple surf washing across the sand. The restless sound of the water made him want to run on forever…_

 _…The lights were much too bright here at the police station. Wrapped in a blanket, he took another sip of a hot bitter drink. Two men dressed in blue uniforms stared down at him. He could feel the annoyance in their eyes, hear it in every question they asked. Though he gave them his name, they kept calling him "Spock". He told them that he lived with Dorian and they asked, "Where?" At Dorian's house, he kept saying, but they grew so angry that he fell silent. "You tight-lipped Vulcan bastard," one of the men snapped. "Doesn't look like Starfleet material to me," said the other man. "And what about that blond hair and those blue eyes? Maybe it really is a mistake." He was wondering what it all meant when a door opened and Dorian walked in, looking pale and upset. Such a thrill of relief tore through him that he leapt to his feet…_

Spock awoke with a gasp. These were more than the sensual dreams that often followed pon farr, more than his abrupt withdrawal from a medicinal herb. It was the assimilation of the Other's— _his_ other—brief but turbulent life. T'Sora had warned him to expect an ongoing period of mental adjustment.

Rising quietly, he donned a robe and decided to pass the remainder of the night in meditation. Over the past weeks he had sorely neglected the harmonious Way of _Kril'es_ , but now felt a redoubled need to increase his awareness of _Oekon's_ presence through _a'Tha._ More than ever, he wished to experience the Creator as some _one_ more than the emotionally detached entity of Vulcan deists.

He found it most pleasing that T'Sora encouraged the effort. From the beginning, she had promised to teach him about the living spirit. "Healer's knowledge", she had called it, but it was more truly a gift of mystical insight. She saw Oekon—or God—as a caring Father wishing very much to commune with His children. And even more remarkable for a Vulcan, she saw God as the source of _ashaya—_ the source of love.

oooo

The cooling breezes of _tasmeen_ were bringing relief to Shi'yon'Kahr Preserve. In this welcome season of change, Spock's healing was deemed sufficient and his medical leave revoked. At dawn, he quietly dressed and packed his few belongings in preparation to board the _Enterprise_. Feeling no desire for breakfast, he drew a deep, steadying breath and walked into the common room. The windows were open wide. Wearing an intricately embroidered dress, T'Sora stood gazing out at the morning.

"And so we must part," the healer spoke softly, without turning her head.

"You know I have no choice in the matter." He awaited a reply, and when there was none he went to the message center and requested passage to the nearest transit station. A skimmer was in the area, ETA twelve minutes. Though they had already discussed the issue, he asked T'Sora one last time, "You will have no need for transportation?"

The dark head shook ever-so-slightly. "I will remain here for a time."

Spock finalized his arrangements and then faced her, counting off each second as five minutes crept by. He did not know how she would receive his next words, but speak he must, before it was too late.

"T'Sora," he said at last

She turned to him, one hand raised in a gesture for silence, her lovely gaze sad and penetrating. "There is no need for you to say anything. I took great liberty as your healer. The fact that it was a successful healing does not necessarily mitigate my actions. That is for you to judge. Later, away from here…with a mind that is fully clear."

He took one step toward her and paused before closing the final distance between them. Looking deeply into her eyes, he said, "My mind is clear enough. T'Sora…you have entered my heart."

"An impetuous assertion."

"To the contrary," he replied. "This past week I have thought of little else."

"Yet only now you speak?"

Reaching out, he grasped her delicate yet knowledgeable hand. "I am not skilled in such matters…and…I dared not hope for a positive response. My career consumes so much of my time."

"As does mine," she concurred.

Losing himself in her violet eyes, he asked, "Am I alone in hoping that the bond between us will remain…and even strengthen?"

She graced him with the gentlest of smiles, and the link between them further opened as she softly began the age-old formula of Vulcan mates. "Parted from me and never parted…"

His grip tightened as he gladly finished, "Never and always touching…and touched."

With a demure look she quietly informed him, "I am carrying thy son beside _my_ heart."

There was astonishment. And then sudden, profound joy that drew the corners of his mouth upward, displaying even white teeth. In an instant his entire life had changed. There was no time for a clan gathering at the ancient grounds, or for that matter, even the inclination for it. Taking her by the shoulders, he urged, "Come with me to the city. This dress of yours will make a fine wedding robe. We can call ahead to a local priest or priestess and arrange a simple validation of our bond. Then after I board the _Enterprise_ , return here if you so wish."

She was, on every point, quite agreeable.

All too soon, the skimmer arrived and its door opened while the pilot waited at the controls. In the privacy of the cabin, Spock tenderly kissed T'Sora's forehead. Then taking his luggage, they hurried outside and climbed aboard, seating themselves as far as possible from the other passenger. In a swirl of dust, the skimmer lifted back into the sky and carried them away.

oooo

"Well damn," McCoy muttered as he studied the fresh circle of scars above Spock's knee. "We didn't turn you over to that grim-eyed Vulcan healer to be sliced up by a sandclaw!"

"I _am_ healed in every way," Spock said less than patiently, for he disliked hearing T'Sora belittled. "As for the accident, she cannot be held responsible for the careless behavior of my replicate."

"Says who? And I bet the bill she's sent Starfleet could choke a horse."

Ignoring the seemingly inane remark, Spock came off the examination table and pulled on his slacks. "Enough poking and probing, doctor. It is time that I return to my duties."

McCoy stubbornly placed himself in front of the exit. "In one hell of a hurry, aren't you? Just because you put on a uniform, it doesn't mean that you're fit for duty. I'd be a lousy medical officer if I turned you loose on the basis of a preliminary exam. Not after everything you've been through."

Spock briefly entertained the idea of knocking the frail-looking doctor across the room. He calmed himself with the realization that McCoy could not possibly know "everything he had been through". Since there was no way to escape a CMO's scrutiny, the best course was to simply comply.

Grudgingly he said, "I see you are determined to have your way. Shall we get on with it?"

Looking very self-satisfied, McCoy directed him to another examination area, where Doctor Chapel was already at work on a patient. She glanced up. Her eyes fleetingly met Spock's before she turned aside in embarrassment. It was a relief when she left the room.

After the day's testing, Spock met Jim Kirk for dinner in the admiral's quarters. There had been no way to gracefully decline the invitation, no logical reason to delay the inevitable private conversation. Awkward greetings were exchanged, then Spock took his place across the small table from his longtime friend. Jim gazed at him, seemed about to say something, then took a bite of his steak instead. The meat looked scandalously good to Spock. He could remember—as Tobias—eating animal flesh at Dorian Wren's home, and later when he overindulged to the point of sickness here aboard the _Enterprise_.

Picking up his fork, he tasted the vegetarian entrée Kirk had thoughtfully provided.

"Spock."

He looked up.

"Spock, it's really good having you back with us. Why, the last time I saw you…"

"It is good to be back," Spock agreed. Lowering his eyes, he took another bite of food. More memories crowded in, more than properly belonged in a single lifetime. It was a peculiar sensation.

Kirk spoke again. "I talked to Bones. So far the test results look fine. I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"I am not unduly concerned," Spock replied. He took a drink of his Altair water. Across the table, Kirk lifted a glass of wine the same pleasing color as T'Sora's eyes.

Kirk put down the wine and gazed at him intently. Impressions of curiosity penetrated Spock's mental shields, and he suspected what was coming.

"Spock. I don't suppose you want to talk about what happened on Vulcan."

Indeed, he could never disclose such deeply personal matters. But toying with the stem of his glass, he considered divulging the news of his marriage.

"Of course, I understand if you'd prefer to keep it to yourself," Kirk said in the subdued way that meant he did not understand at all. He resumed eating, and for a time the only sound was that of his fork and knife against the plate.

Spock wavered between maintaining strict Vulcan privacy and opening himself to a friend.

And then Kirk muttered, "I never trusted that quack."

Somehow Spock's water overturned and spilled across the table. As the admiral stared at him, Spock pushed his chair back, and rising in a tautly restrained state of anger declared, "I am not at liberty to discuss the manner of my healing. It will have to be enough for you just to know that I _am_ healed… _thanks to T'Sora._ Let me never hear another word spoken against her." Abruptly he turned and walked out the door.

oooo

Kirk hesitated outside Spock's quarters, not at all sure if he should disturb the Vulcan. He could not stop thinking about the unpleasant scene at dinner and feeling that it was his own stupid fault. He should have realized that Spock would be touchy when it came to his healer. Well, once McCoy gave the go-ahead, he would officially recommend that Spock be promoted to captain of the _Enterprise_. What better way of showing full confidence in his friend?

He pressed the door chime once, then waited, but there was no response. Working up his courage, he triggered the door, and finding it unlocked as always, peeked in. A single light shone from the living area.

"Spock?" he called softly.

From his position, Kirk saw a black robe lying on the floor near Spock's meditation alcove. He had never known the Vulcan to leave clothes strewn about, at least not in his right mind. Concerned, he stepped fully into the cabin and found Spock slumped in front of his computer, head resting on his arms. Now Kirk was truly alarmed. Slowly he walked over and found an image of the healer T'Sora displayed on the screen.

 _Don't tell me that creature still has a hold on him._

Kirk was about to speak when Spock suddenly awoke and looked him straight in the eye. Kirk smiled in relief as the Vulcan sat up in his chair, one slanted brow rising in the old, familiar way.

"I…didn't mean to disturb you," Kirk explained. "When you didn't answer the buzzer, I…"

Spock switched off his computer. Though it had made no sound running, the room seemed quieter now. Too quiet. The Vulcan's gaze did not waver as he admitted, "The day tired me more than I had realized."

Kirk felt foolish enough without mentioning anything about dinner. Starting to back away, he said, "I'll let you rest, then."

"No, Jim," Spock said decisively. "I would rather you stay. There is something more I want to tell you…in regard to my healer."

Kirk warily sank into a nearby chair and awaited what was sure to be an unpleasant revelation about the woman he so disliked. Or would this be yet another defense of her arrogant ways? "Alright, I'm listening," he said.

"I truly hope you are," Spock began, as serious as Kirk had ever seen him, "for I have taken T'Sora to be my wife."

oooo

His first message awaited her, ready to view. T'Sora's heart rejoiced at the line revealing the sender's identity. "S'chn T'gai Spock. _U.S.S. Enterprise_." Slashes of sunlight cut across the screen, but she did not adjust the blinds of her university apartment.

Her joy fading to uncertainty, she went to the window and gazed out over the quad where medical students sat studying in the open air. How fine and clean everything looked, compared to the wilds of Shi'yon'Kahr Preserve. But it was those same rugged wilds that had brought her a new husband. What, now, would she find in _his_ heart?

Her eyes sought out a hedge coming into flower by a side entrance. Soft yellow mist in a land of fire and stone. Surviving, even thriving. Would she survive as well?

A chill crept over her as she turned back to the computer. What if Spock's healing was not as stable as she first thought? Would he regret their hurried marriage? Would he disown their unborn child? Or worse yet, attempt to take the boy from her?

Speculation was illogical when the answer lay so close at hand. There was no time to waste. Down in the quad, students were getting up and heading to their classes. How strange that she—like Dorian Wren—was a university professor…and due at a lecture hall in ten-point-five minutes.

Hands trembling slightly, she ordered Spock's message to appear.

Resplendent in Starfleet uniform, he spoke their native tongue. "T'Sora, I was very ill when I first came under your care. I cannot remember all of that period, and some of what happened later, I would prefer to forget. But never thee. To think, _aisha,_ that I might have died in the sandclaw's grip and never known the depths of thy love…or my own. I can only be grateful that circumstances brought us together, and I look forward to every moment as lifelong bondmates and parents to our son."

In conclusion, he added a tentative stardate for his next visit, courteously inquiring if she found it agreeable.

Her heart overflowing, T'Sora reached out and touched his beloved image. It was then that she noticed it. The insignia on his uniform was now that of a captain. _Captain!_

There was the best evidence of his condition, evidence more telling than anything else Spock might have said. Only the fittest of Starfleet officers were promoted to that rank. Yes. He was truly well and would remain her lifelong bondmate. And with that precious knowledge, she blacked the screen and started for the door. Her students would already be assembling in the lecture hall. She must not be late. There was so very little time each day, and such a vast store of knowledge to pass on to the future healers of Vulcan.

oooOOooo


End file.
